Ercole said, deferentially, “The residents of that building—everyone—were interviewed and dismissed as suspects. The police found the men you are speaking of were out of town that night.”

“Still. Someone from the school? It is impossible.”

“But someone might have tagged along with a student. You know what I mean.”

“I do, yes. I should have been more careful, I suppose.” Her beautiful lips, dark purple, tightened.

“Do you know Frieda well?”

“Not well. Only for a few weeks, when classes began. My boyfriend and I met her in European Political History.”

“Did you see her with anyone at the party you didn’t recognize?”

“It was crowded. I saw her with Garry and some girlfriends of ours. But I didn’t pay much attention.”

“If you don’t mind, tell us again what you remember about that evening,” Sachs asked.

“My boyfriend and I went to dinner around eight and came back here to set out wine and some snacks and dolce. The people started arriving about ten for the party.” She shrugged, touched her hair, patting it into place. Sachs, as a former fashion model, knew beauty and Natalia was one of the most stunning women she’d ever seen. That would help immeasurably in a career in the industry, even if she chose simply to design, not model. The way of the world.

Beauty rules.

“Garry was in one of the first groups to arrive. I do not know him so good. I spoke to him. I like to hang out with the Americans and English and Canadians to improve my language. More and more people arrived and about midnight I saw Frieda and Garry together. They were very close. You know, the way people are when they meet and are flirting. Touching, kissing, whispering close. I saw them go up to the roof, carrying their drinks. They were both drunk.” She shook her head. “Sometime later I saw Garry downstairs. He was, how do you say, groggy. Stumbling. I remember thinking I hope he doesn’t drive home. He was not looking good. He left before I could say anything.

“The party went on and by about four, everyone had left. Dev, my boyfriend, and I were cleaning up. And we heard cries from the roof. I went up and found Frieda beside the wall separating the roofs. She had fallen. She was in a terrible state. Her skirt torn, scrapes on her legs. I helped her up. She was hysterical. She knew she’d been attacked but could remember nothing. Dev called the police and they were here soon.”

“Can you show us where that was?”

“Yes.”

Natalia took them to spring-loaded stairs that led to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the back hall. Even the stairs—a wire-and-steel contraption, which pulled down from overhead—were stylish. The climb would be a bit risqué in a skirt, Sachs thought. Like the hostess, though, she was in pants—jeans in her case, not thousand-dollar leather. On the roof was a wooden deck and several ten-foot-high sheds that may have been holding water tanks or tools. A sitting area, about twelve by twelve feet, contained metal chairs and tables, on which sat ashtrays.